


Red Dead Redemption Tumblr Prompts!

by Dominion_of_Dust1886



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 06:15:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17054705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominion_of_Dust1886/pseuds/Dominion_of_Dust1886
Summary: Prompts asked from various Tumblr users; I'm up for the task!





	1. I Immediately Regret This Decision

"I immediately regret this decision."

"Liar."

Arthur glared at John, his blue-green eyes slightly rolling as the teenager focused on the road before them. 

"What makes you think this ain't some sorta trick?"

It was John's turn to roll his eyes, "trust me, Arthur. I know the stagecoach has yet to deviate from this route. It's the shortest road from Valentine to Rhodes. They'll never expect us!"

"I ain't quite convinced yet," he sulked, yet remained by John's side. "Still ain't convinced you even know what 'deviate' means."

"It's one of those words Dutch and Hosea say a lot, "John says, "I think I got it right."

Arthur held back a laugh, "thinking is what got you into too many messes, kid."

"Hey! I ain't much of a kid anymore!"

"Naw, just one who's still gotta be babysat by me," Arthur lit his cigarette.

John eyed the smoke, "can I get one?"

"When you're older," Arthur saw the barely visible flash of red and gold through the brambles they hid behind. "That the one?"

"Yep," John was shaking with excitement, "I got this-"

"No," Arthur grabbed his shoulder, "cover me."

That only irritates John, "why? This is my lead, damnit!"

Arthur puffs another hit, "I aim to survive this one, genius."

John sulks, only to swipe his hand at the lit cigarette. Arthur, anticipating the move, blocks the leather clad arm with his own. It then begins a tussle between the two as they are soon into fisticuffs. John lands a lucky punch to Arthur's jaw while Arthur jabs him in the kidney.

The older man knocks John from his feet, "knock it off!"

However, he's soon rammed as they are tussling again, neither holding back. 

"Ya really gonna do this?" Arthur sneered, tossing John to the ground.

The boy was fast, yet Arthur's instinct was spot on. While John had slithered out of his grip, Arthur only pinned the teenager to the ground. One hand holding both wrists while he straddled John's waist. 

"Let me go, asshole!" John squirmed.

"Not until you apologize, boy. You hurt my feelins," Arthur grinned, definitely not offended in the least. 

"I just wanted a smoke!"

John tried knocking the other man off, but he didn't budge. Arthur was all muscle that John couldn't compete with. Arthur merely took another drag on his cigarette and released it. It burnt out as he flicked it into the woods. 

"Can't have one. That was the last," Arthur released John, "let's get that stage."

The teen glared, brushing off dead leaves from his backside. He retrieved his revolver, grumbling the whole time as they prepared to properly rob the carriage. 

"This ain't cattle robbin'," Arthur provides as he primed his repeater, "no killin' less they start shootin'."

"What if they shoot first?" John snapped back.

"I stand behind you," Arthur sneered, "go on."

The teen swore, the hissing of  _prick_ came to Arthur's ears easily. He grinned, actually finding that irritating the boy had lightened up his whole 'having to babysit again' deal. 

They easily picked their through the undergrowth beside the stagecoach that paused in the middle of the road, both creeping up along its sides. They were about to point their guns at the driver when the doors opened, barrels of other guns pointing straight at them.

"Don't move!" The one before Arthur shouts, face hidden behind a bandana. 

"Ah, crap," he says, lowering the barrel. John reluctantly following suit.

The wagon was occupied by none other than Dutch and Hosea, who were busting their guts at the sight of the younger fellers. They were practically wiping away tears with all the laughing they were doing. 

"ARE YOU SHITTIN' ME?" John called, holstering his gun.

"Couldn't pass it up!" Dutch wheezed, "hadta see what you boys were doin'!"

"Yeah, yeah," Arthur rolled his eyes, "was wondering where you two idiots were."

"Scoutin' your mark," Hosea doubled over, "shoulda seen your faces!"

"The fuck?" John merely shoved Hosea as he climbed into the driver's seat. He pitched the body of the former driver off with a disgusted snort.

Dutch joined him above, "lesson number one: don't reveal your plans until you know who you want in on it."

"Thought lesson number one was 'don't get caught'?" Arthur sat in the stage with Hosea. 

"Unless it's teaching the kids how to rob a stage correctly," Hosea easily spoke. " 'sides, who won the scuffle? Heard you two bitchin' and whining."

The younger men kept quiet; Arthur opting to watch the passing scenery while John continued to grumble. 

"You guys are sick," John whipped the reigns, "like, really messed up."

Dutch laughed, "won't deviate from it either."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw plenty of posts on young Arthur and John, kinda influenced this little prompt on how they act towards each other. I'd say it's early in their brotherhood, probably 1887ish so Arthur's around 24 and John's probably 13-14.


	2. I Can't Do This On My Own

She was a ghost. Had to be. Arthur had no other explanation for seeing her in Saint Denis. 

Yet, as she exited the churchyard and walked towards him, Arthur wasn't mistaken. The same golden hair slightly curled, the same fair skin and knowing honey gold eyes. 

"Hello, Arthur."

He removed his hat, "Tabatha Crane," his eyes dropped to her slightly swollen stomach, "or is it something else?"

"That depends," she kept herself in profile to him.

She held that swell carefully between her hands and that was when he noticed a darker shadow lingering on her eye. His fingers touched her chin, prompting her to allow it.

"Damn, Tabs," he cursed.

The swelling must have diminished since she received it, but the color hadn't faded. Sickly purple and yellow bruises encompassed her left eye. Another dotted her neck just slightly above the high collar of her dress.

"Please," her eyes filled with tears, "c-can we talk?"

"Course," he offered his arm, leading them towards a quieter section of the churchyard.

Her touch was warm through his shirt, her scent soothing. How long had he wanted to see her? 

He helped her to sit on a secluded bench behind the church. Even in the thick of Saint Denis, it was quiet here.

"Look, I'm not going to beat around the bush, I need your help."

"Clearly," he said a little harsher than he wanted, he smiled softly at her hurt look, "sorry. I didn't mean it that way."

She looked away, a gentle pull of her lips upwards. She always had a demure air about her.

"Usually I'd handle this by myself, but," Tabatha rubbed the life inside her, "I...I can't do this on my own."

"Whadda need?" He sounded desperate, maybe hopeful?

She regarded him, probably remembering their time together. How they ran jobs further west, getting into loads of trouble. How they were an item, almost marrying one another before she left to be by her ailing mothers side. 

But she seemed better off in fancy clothes and living in Saint Denis. Definitely not a huckster anymore, unless this too was a ploy.

"I...well," she twisted her handkerchief between her fingers, "I need to leave Saint Denis without my husband knowing."

His hand waves in her direction, "his handiwork?"

"Arthur," her voice sounded tired, "he...he's...not himself."

"No excuse," Arthur stood, "ya ain't an object to toss around, Tabatha. 'Specially not by yer husband."

"I ain't disagreeing with you, it's all exactly as you say! I'm afraid of what he would do to us if I don't leave."

"I have money," he began digging through his satchel. 

Her hand touched his, "no. I don't need your money."

"Then what?" He threaded his finger with hers, they were still soft.

Those honey gold orbs locked with his, years almost fading away. 

Almost. 

"Henry practically sold all my things to prove his dominance over me. But I don't care about that, except for one thing."

Her lips pressed together as she fought against the surge of emotions bubbling inside her, "he took the necklace you gave me. Remember? When we got drunk and Hosea had to use his charm to get us out?"

"I remember," Arthur chuckled, holding back the cough he was scared of now, "used the 'kids havin' a weddin' ' and he was the worried high class father."

"Right!" Tabatha joined in, her laugh lifting Arthur's heart.

"That th' only thing?"

She nods.

He stands, eyes darting towards the stone jungle outside the churchyard. Funny how he considered this a part of his childhood so long ago.

"He tends to keep to the saloons this time of day," Tabatha gains his attention again, "poker and drink his ever returning vice. I think he might do something stupid and bet it without a second thought."

Arthur's ears perked, already planning something. 

"Think I got an idea," he helps her to stand, "I'll get that back for ya."

Tabatha smiled a little wider, "thank you, Arthur. It means the world to me."

"Don't thank me yet."

She straightens her skirts, "alright. He's gonna be in the Hotel Grand."

"And you?"

"I'll be at the station for the night train to Boston," she replies, "my brother has offered me a place to stay. He never really liked Henry; I'm understanding why."

Tabatha waved as she gone off, possibly packing her bags for the trip. Maybe even cleaning her husband of their remaining money. She had that kind of wrath in her. 

Arthur meanwhile headed for the saloon, meandering through the swinging doors. 

-*-

"Think I'm about ta cleaned ya out," Arthur eyed the man before him, "all in."

His mark, Henry scoffed, swiping at his impressive moustache. All his chips were already in the pile.

"I'm gonna raise the stakes," he pulled an object from his pocket before depositing it onto the pile.

The gleam of emerald green had confirmed to Arthur that this was the necklace. The stone almost the size of his thumbnail, encircled by smaller chips of diamonds, set in yellow gold. He nicked it from a wealthy man five years back and gave it to Tabatha. 

"Oh, are ya?" Arthur smirked, "how bout ya show that hand?"

The five cards on the table: nine of spades, jack of diamonds, ace of spades, ten of clubs and six of diamonds. 

Henry dropped his hand with a smirk. A two pairs; six of clubs and nine of hearts.

"Looks like I won," he sneered.

"That's a good hand," Arthur placed his down, "but not quite."

He held a King and Queen of Hearts.

"WHAT?! NOOO!!!"

"Sorry, pal," the outlaw reached over, taking the chips and necklace, "it just ain't yer luck."

"But...but...my wife's gonna kill me!"

 _You don't know the half of it_ , Arthur eyes him, "it's how them cards fall."

"But, she's pregnant, mister!" He had desperation in his stature, "I can't let you take that!"

The saloon had taken interest in them now.

Henry dropped his hands hard on the table, "that's her necklace!"

"Then why you playin' it, fool?" A patron asked, "shouldn'ta played it!"

"Why do you even have it?" Another joined in.

"Pregnant and your here? Shame on you!"

The uproar came for Henry, their words angry at his selfishness. Arthur had a few look his way, but they agreed he wasn't to blame.

"I'll be returnin' it to her," Arthur assured one older woman. 

She merely huffed, going in to smack some common sense into Henry as Arthur walked off.

 -*-

The night was warm, the train having just pulled into the station. Arthur had cleaned up since the poker game, a nice clean shirt and vest making him look quite smart.

"I see your looking just fine," Tabatha had commented on it.

Arthur only blushed, head dipping down behind his hat. "Thought I'd see ya off."

She glowed, "a proper man you've become, Arthur."

They stood under the gaslights, the bustle of the city fading into the background. He dug into his satchel, producing the necklace folded inside a white kerchief. 

"This...this is worth a lot of money," he said. "You could easily sell it for money."

He placed the article in her palm. Tabatha brushed the stone with a fingertip. 

She slowly shook her head, "the money isn't what this is-" her gloved hand caressed his cheek, eyes glittering with happy tears, "-it's the memories of the man that gave it to me all those years ago."

The train whistle blew, last call for boarding.

Tabatha leaned in, pressing her lips against Arthur's cheek. It lingered longer than appropriate, but spoke of so much gratitude. 

"Come visit me when this whole mess is over."

He doesn't affirm her wishes as he helps her into the traincar. He didn't want to tell her of the fate awaiting him, a painful, slow death from the TB or the Pinkertons on their tail. It wasn't her life anymore inside the gang. She had her own growing inside her.

"I'll keep that in mind," he says, following on the outside as she settled in her seat. "You'll be alright?"

She opens the window as she nods, "sure. I learned from the best."

The train began its journey, the slow churn of metal on metal squeaking. Smoke billows from the stack as they move out.

Tabatha holds her hand out the window as Arthur touches it.

"Safe journey," he says.

Her smile warms his heart as she leaves for a new life while Arthur continues to live out his. 


End file.
